


To Be Loved is to be the One Destroyed

by Silk_and_Flowers



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Birth, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gen, Mild Gore, Valcelyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-04-14 08:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4557879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silk_and_Flowers/pseuds/Silk_and_Flowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Valentine and Jocelyn Morgenstern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 " _And as you know,_ my love _, I always deliver on my promises."_

He stood facing the flames, the light reflecting off of his dark eyes and illuminating the stark shadows of grief in his face. He was oblivious to the screams echoing around him and the smoke clouding his vision. His senses could only focus on the memory of her face, the bright curve of her lips, the laughter and love in her eyes. He saw that face wide and terrified, imagined the sound of her gear jacket brushing as gently as the hand of its owner against the undergrowth as she entered the werewolf encampment. He imagined her body along _his,_ the love she had once reserved for him alone being shown to a monster.

" _She would never even dare to try."_

He snarled.

His son's black eyes looked up at him impassively at the sudden despairing sound. His face, an exact miniature of his own, showed no confusion about why there were screams and no complaint about the scorching heat. Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern turned his face once again towards the burning manor, his father copying his movements.

The volume of the screams was dying down, but the fire was not abating. It was beautiful and merciless, its fiery tongues destroying everything about their life together.

Valentine had learnt his lesson from the beautiful and the merciless.

" _I love you."_

He had thought that their love was something that could make him stronger. He had thought that, because of her, all he had known about love was false. But now, now he understood his mistake.

Love had never made anyone stronger. To love, was to destroy.

He picked up the small knapsack bag and gripped his son's hand harder, the small fingers exactly like hers, and how many times had he watched them move and admired them and felt their delicate strength-

The toddler made a noise of annoyance at the increased forced contact, and Valentine Morgenstern snapped his head up from bitter reminiscence.

Hand in hand, father and son began to walk up the path.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This story is being transferred onto here from my ff.net account. All written chapters will be up alongside this one, and then I will be updating this story and the one on there whenever new chapters are ready. I hope you enjoy reading this!


	2. She Brings in the Light Where There is Darkness

"Valentine!" His wife's light, lilting voice called him from downstairs and he groaned, shifting onto his side. He blinked sleep out of his eyes and sat up slowly, every muscle aching from his fight the night before. A figure with dark, curling red hair appeared in the bedroom doorway, her green eyes looking at him with mock disapproval.

"What happened to your motto of getting up with the dawn and making the most of the day?" she asked.

"It got thrown away in a fight with rogue vampires."

She walked into the room, seeming to bring the light of the day in with her despite the closed curtains. "Did the iratzes I gave you work alright?" This time her voice was gentle, her eyes sympathetic as she looked him over and sat on the bed next to him. He smiled at her, pulling her closer to him and kissing the top of her hair. Her hand reached out and cupped his face, the wedded union rune on the back of it reflecting the light from the doorway.

"Yeah. It's just the regular ache of the day after battle." She smiled back at him, and he noticed there was a small box on her lap. "What's this?" he asked, pulling his arms away from her waist and lifting the box up.

She laughed, the golden sound echoing around the room. "Our wedding photos. Mother dropped them off a short while ago."

He chuckled, lifting the lid off of the box.

"Father got them developed in a mundane shop for us after his last mission." Jocelyn leaned in and put a delicate hand on his shoulder as Valentine picked up the first photo.

"This one is awful. Look at Luke's face! He looks all blurry! With his mouth open like that, he looks a bit like a Drevak demon, don't you think?"

Valentine laughed again. "Do not tell him that."

"When he sees this photo, he'll probably make that comment himself."

They moved through the rest of the photos, laughing and commenting about each one before placing them carefully back into the box. The last photo was undeniably the best one. Evening sunlight reflected off of Jocelyn's gold dress and Valentine's wedding gear. Her head was bent up towards his, his bent down towards hers, both of their faces wearing a soft smile. Jocelyn slid off of the bed and raced downstairs soundlessly, returning with a black edged frame and a breathless grin. She took the photo out of the box and placed it into the frame, laying it on the bedside table just where sunlight from a gap in the curtains turned the black into a blazing gold.

Jocelyn looked back towards the bed to see her husband yawn widely.

"Valentine, I know how busy you are, but you've been out all night. As your wife, I'm saying that you are going back to sleep for a while." She held up a hand as he began to protest. "No arguments or I'll be forced to hit you back to unconsciousness. I have to go out for a while to look at decorations with Amatis, and I'll be back later in time to wake you up for the Circle meeting. It is fine for you to rest, love. Even you need sleep."

Valentine sighed. "My wife, you are indeed a force to be reckoned with."

"It's why you married me. Now lay back down." She dropped a kiss on his forehead. "I love you." She walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Valentine rolled over to face the photo, letting triumphant memories of his wedding day fill his thoughts as he drifted back off to sleep.

 


	3. Surprises

 

Looking at his wife from the side as they ate breakfast one morning , Valentine saw the smudges of sleeplessness under her eyes and the slight tremble of her hands as she used her spoon. Jocelyn was like steel hidden deceptively under porcelain, and a Shadowhunter was rarely ill. A sudden knot of worry and anger began to form in his chest.

"Jocelyn." His voice was quiet, but she jumped. As she turned to face him, the shadows became more noticeable. The knot tugged tight. "What has happened?"

She sighed and looked up at him, the spoon clinking loudly against the bowl as she set it down. "I can see what you are thinking, my love. Do not worry. I... I just have some news."

"News?" Her voice was laced with nervousness, and the knot began to get bigger.

Jocelyn took in a deep breath and stood, walking over to him and clasping his hands with a surprisingly shaky grip. "I went to the hospital today, before sunrise, and I saw a doctor because I had been feeling nauseous and I just didn't feel like normal. He told me that I... that we..." She took in another deep breath and forced the words out. "That we are having a baby."

He reeled with shock, and wild happiness slowly replaced the knot in his chest. He leaned in and kissed his wife gently. When he drew back, her eyes had begun to shine with suppressed joy.

"You aren't angry, annoyed that it is too soon...?"

"No." The force of the word surprised them both. "No. A baby. A baby! Wow. I-I-"

Jocelyn laughed. "Look at the great Valentine, leader of The Circle, able to convince anyone of anything with just a few words. Struck speechless by an unborn baby."

He pulled her into his arms again. "Is it a boy or a girl?" he whispered into her hair.

"I did not want to know. The doctor told me that he or she is due in eight months."

"I think that it is a boy. We will train him, you and I, the way my father trained me, to be the greatest Shadowhunter the worlds have ever seen."

She sat back, looking up at him. "What if they are a girl? Surely a girl can be a great warrior too." she said teasingly.

"Married to you, how could I not realise that? Of course she can be. Gender does not matter."

A wide grin crossed her face, and he knew the expression was mirrored on his own.

"I love you, sweetheart."

* * *

Jocelyn sat facing her easel, a landscape of the view out of their bedroom window beginning to appear on the canvas. The twilight shone gently in through the high window she was in front of and a mug of boiling water stood cooling on the table. Her child kicked lightly against her, the movement whispering along her slightly swelled stomach. Everything seemed perfect. Everything _was_ perfect.

So why did she feel so _bad_?

A tear slid out before she could catch it, hitting the end of her paintbrush softly. She just didn't understand it. These were supposed to be some of the best days of her life. She was supposed to be in ecstasy, planning and preparing everything for her child. She was not supposed to be so confused and so _afraid_.

The nightmares, if they could be called so mild a word, crept through her sleep each night. Jocelyn cowered at the thought of going to bed now, terrified of what she would see as she closed her eyes.

Not terror for herself. She could deal with terror for herself. She could not deal with terror for her child.

Nightmares of herself and her baby being poisoned, being suffocated, being warped and twisted by an unseen evil. Dreadful, horrible, choking cries accompanying the images, sounds no infant should ever make. And a bitter, rancid taste pooling in her mouth as she woke screaming.

Valentine had noticed, of course. Valentine noticed everything, especially when it involved her. He was the one to soothe her as she cried, too scared to go back to sleep. She had been advised to drink these pregnancy potions and Valentine dutifully made them up for her each night. She did not have to lift a finger when he was around and her every need was catered for. But there was something off about him, something weird. It was something about the dark glee in his eyes as he touched her stomach, something about the assault of questions about how she was feeling every time he walked through the door.

She was almost relieved that he was out of the house so often, what with plans for the next Accords being talked over by the Clave. But she was dreadfully lonely without him. The house barely saw any visitors at the moment either. She had been banned from going to Circle meetings by Valentine, as he said that they were no place for an expectant mother. The house was close to the Wayland's manor and the Herondales were not much further, but Michael and his wife were busy with missions and the Herondales were ill with the same disease her parents were currently afflicted by. Luke was as busy with Circle work as Valentine was, so he rarely visited either. So her days were mostly spent idly by herself, alone in the manor with nothing to really do. And that frustrated her to no end.

Jocelyn had also prided herself on her memory. Somehow she remembered little details that others forgot, which had helped her pass her training so well. It also made her a formidable opponent in battle because she remembered her enemy's weaknesses and slips in fighting techniques. But lately she had a nagging, persistent feeling she was forgetting something. Valentine called it pregnancy brain, but her mother had told her that pregnancy should not affect memory. So what _was_ it?

A sudden sound, a low moaning, drifted in through the open window and arrested Jocelyn's heart in sudden dread. She briefly wondered how hours had passed, and how the landscape she was painting had finished without her knowledge. She stood slowly and looked outside at the calm night sky, at the moon illuminating the ground below and at the figure of Valentine as he walked up to the house carrying a body. A body with messy tawny fair hair falling loosely forward onto his forehead. A body with a hand tucked onto his chest, a hand as intimately familiar as her own. A body with blood covering the stupid too small gear jacket she had told him to replace a thousand times.

The air in her lungs left her in a gasp, a gasp forming a single agonized word.

" _Luke_."


	4. Nightmares

Her body reacted before her mind did and she was opening the front door as the numbing grief started to crush her. Valentine was shouting words she could not comprehend, his face oddly pale, almost as pale as the body of the man he was holding. He swept into the house and she found herself moving again as she realised that some rational part of her must have understood what he was saying. Her vision was dim and the only noise she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

The world suddenly flooded back to her and she gasped with the suddenness of it. Her child gave a strong, reassuring kick, reminding her that all was not lost. _"He's not dead yet,"_ she thought, _"For now he is living and breathing and he needs you and Valentine. Luke needs you to be strong."_

She grabbed what was needed and raced up the stairs to the guest room to find Luke sprawled out on the bed, blood gently dripping onto the fancy coverlet Valentine loved. Valentine was holding his jacket to his _parabatai's_ shoulder and he glanced up wildly as she entered. He held out a bloodstained hand and she passed him a towel silently.

"Werewolf bite." Valentine spoke tersely.

Jocelyn nodded. Slowly and methodically, almost as though she were in a dream, she sorted out what they would need and what they wouldn't from the dusty medical kit. She had done an exam essay about werewolf bites and their effects on humans once whilst in the Academy and had been given full marks for it. She silently thanked her tutor as she compounded the necessary herbs and plants to treat the wound. She turned around with the mixture to find Valentine's dark eyes upon her, their expression upset but oddly unreadable apart from that. The towel laying beside him was almost soaked through with blood.

"Jocelyn." His voice was startlingly loud in the silent room. "You look exhausted. Why don't you go-"

"And what, sit down whilst my best friend is dying? Whilst _Luke_ is dying? No." She started to ladle the mixture she'd made onto a fresh cloth. She walked over to them and got her first close look at Luke's shoulder. Valentine had cleaned away the blood and managed to stitch up the gaping tear, but there was still evidence of the use of teeth in the ragged edges of the flesh.

Valentine was still looking at her, and his eyes had darkened further. For a moment Jocelyn thought he was about to start shouting at her and her stomach tightened with a wave of hot anger, but he just turned away and gently laid the cloth against the wound. He took the set of bandages and began to wrap Luke's shoulder. Jocelyn was surprised at this, but also surprised that the anger she felt was not dissipating. It was growing.

When it was someone you loved lying wounded and motionless, perhaps your emotions went a bit out of control. Pregnancy hormones were probably not helping either.

"He also needs an oral mixture Jocelyn."

The hot anger spiked, making her hands shake. What was the _matter_ with her? He was right, after all. She took the bowl up again and nearly dropped it. Taking in deep breaths, she began to compound what was needed.

She poured it into a cup, and Valentine gently lifted Luke up so the mixture could be swallowed. Valentine slowly laid him back down and stood staring at his _parabatai_. Luke's face had lost its yellow tint, and his breathing was soft and regular. The dread Jocelyn had felt was slowly ebbing, but the anger was still there.

What in the Angel's name was going on?

Jocelyn picked up the bloody towel and bowl in unsteady hands and left the room. Soft footsteps alerted her to the fact that she was not alone, but she ignored them until she was in the kitchen. She had to get a grip on herself before she spoke to her husband.

"Jocelyn." His warm, familiar hand touched her arm and she jerked away, moving faster than she ever had before. She had run behind the table before the towels had hit the floor. Her breathing became fast and shallow as she stared down at herself in amazement and fear. Looking up, she saw that Valentine's eyes were incredulous and _curious_.

No anger. No fear. He was looking at her with a dark glee.

Her child moved strongly, kicking insistently, almost as though they were angry at her for moving away from their father like that. Jocelyn's thoughts were whirling with fear, and she placed a hand on the place the insistent taps were coming from. She was shaking harder than before and her emotions seemed to be spiralling out of control.

Valentine slowly walked over to her, his eyes still looking at her with that terrifyingly gleeful expression. She moved back away from the table, her instincts screaming at her to run. He had a large needle in his hands and she didn't know where he had gotten it from or when. Her back hit the wall and she stopped, seemingly frozen in place.

"Jocelyn." His voice was calm, nearly kind as he approached, but his eyes were impossibly dark, dark tunnels that went on forever, devoid of any emotion, and she flinched away from him. The needle flashed bright in the moonlight, bright enough to snap her out of the ice, and she screamed at him to get away from her before she ran, once again impossibly fast, but yet _he was faster_ , and a sharp pinch in her neck made the world fall away into darkness.

* * *

She awoke screaming, and he was there next to her, his touch making her cringe away from him. She curled in over her small bump, sobbing as the bright light of witchlight filled the room. She was too afraid to look up, but his hands gently lifted her chin upwards, forcing her to look at him anyway. His dark eyes were hurt and full of tender concern. Not deep tunnels, not terrifyingly joyful. She relaxed, and he brushed the tears from her cheeks with the tips of calloused thumbs.

"Must have been a bad one tonight," he murmured. She nodded, forcibly relaxing her body. The baby kicked, reassuring her that it was just a nightmare. She reached down and stroked her abdomen, ignoring the way her hand shook.

A sudden remembrance of events made her freeze, alarm tingling her nerves. "What happened?"

He sighed. "Luke was bitten." His eyes were steady on hers, but his hands tightened into fists on the bedsheets. "It's ok, he's alright now. He's sleeping. After we bandaged him up you went down the stairs with the equipment and I guess the shock was too much for you. You collapsed. I brought you up here and gave you some of the healing potion and your pregnancy one. You seemed alright and were sleeping, I was watching you. I had hoped that perhaps you might not have any nightmares tonight."

His eyes were so wistful and his tone so upset that it dragged Jocelyn's thoughts away from her nightmare and she kissed him forcefully, drawing him up against her. A feeling of safety stole through her as Valentine placed the witchlight back down next to the wedding photo of the two of them and responded, growling softly.

The last vague thought she had before she lost herself in his touch was that for some odd reason her neck ached abominably.


	5. Realisations

The first night of the full moon was exactly three weeks after the night Luke had been bitten.

Jocelyn had checked the lunar charts immediately after seeing Luke and had relayed the information to him and Valentine with a voice devoid of any emotion. A discussion led to the agreement that Luke would remain with them in the manor house until then, after which he could leave and go home if he didn't have a trace of lycanthropy. _When_ he didn't have lycanthropy, Jocelyn firmly avowed. So Valentine put it about that Luke was ill, and the three weeks passed quietly and uneventfully with a continual undercurrent of tension and worry to mar it all.

Jocelyn found that Valentine was extremely attentive and seemed to be in the house more because his _parabatai_ was there. He seemed happier to be just with her and less focused on politics and the Circle. She was enjoying seeing him this way. Jocelyn was also very happy to see Luke there every day, it broke the monotony of her days before he was bitten and she found that she wasn't as listless with her best friend in the manor. "It means I can keep an eye on you." she had laughed when Luke had asked her how she felt about the arrangement.

Luke, however, thought that she was the one who needed to be looked after. Although her bump was growing rapidly now, everything else about her seemed to be shrinking. She refused to eat after a certain time in the afternoon, and most of the time at meals her plate was left half full despite his and Valentine's pleas with her. The morning sickness she had had in the start of her pregnancy looked as though it was returning, and the nightmares were continuing. Luke had woken up on his second night there to her screams and sobs, punctuated by Valentine's soft reassurances. Because of these Valentine had made him change rooms to one on the top floor so his sleep wasn't as disturbed, but he still awoke every other night with his heart frantically beating in terror and sympathy. He wanted to talk to Valentine about it, to see if there was anything he could do, but Luke could see that he was worried enough already with her state. So he kept his thoughts to himself.

Valentine was worried about Jocelyn. A lot. According to his calculations, she still had at least 8 weeks to go until the baby was at full term gestation. Some days it was hard for him to give her the infusion and injection, looking at the shadows under her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks. But the child was growing rapidly now and was strong enough that Valentine heard its heartbeat loudly when Jocelyn was sleeping. It was going to be the beginning of such a superior race that he knew it was going to be worth the trouble in the end. He did not like to do these things to his wife, but it was a necessity. And Jocelyn was strong. She would survive anything and everything, this he knew. Luke being there was a burden to his experiments, but he slept heavily and kept to his room mostly so it wasn't too hard to hide from him. The magic he had learnt was also helping, and it was getting easier now to convince Jocelyn that the pain of the demon blood working and his other experiments were figments of her nightmares.

And so the three weeks passed, and during the first night of the full moon the very house seemed to await with bated breath.

* * *

Jocelyn sat with her jaw clenched firmly shut on the bed and her eyes locked on Valentine's, both silently waiting as the hours ticked by. There was no infusion to be given that night, as Valentine had concluded that at the child's development now the demonic ichor should be given to her every two nights rather than every night, and then every night once more when it was at 36 weeks gestation. He did not admit to himself that he was also doing it to try and give her a break. Tonight her eyes were brighter than he had remembered them being for a while, and he quenched the slight guilt of her condition before it could fully develop.

As the clock in the room ticked to 10, a sudden race of footsteps and a harsh gasping sounded on the stairs, and the front door was thrown open so forcefully that the wedding photo fell off the table with a crash. Valentine and Jocelyn stared at each other in a dull horror. Wordlessly, Valentine picked up the frame and a few slivers of glass slid out, cracking further on the floor. He took a deep breath and tried to remember the spell to repair it, feeling only a slight relief as the glass began to repair itself. A numbness seemed to be dulling his capacity to feel anything else, a sense that was increased as he turned around and saw the ice of Jocelyn's posterior start to crack.

A sudden pain gripped him, a pain so violent that he fell to his knees. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, all he knew was the pain. It suddenly peaked, and he was struggling not to vomit. Dimly he was aware of Jocelyn's voice screaming his name. It ebbed away gradually, and he became aware of Jocelyn's hands pressed against his shoulder and the fact that his shirt was sticking to him with an odd substance that looked like blood but couldn't be blood unless maybe he'd fallen on some glass or something-

Jocelyn lifted her hands and went to grab his, and he noticed they were covered in an ashy dark liquid. A liquid that meant only one thing.

His _parabatai_ rune, the bond tying him to Luke was gone.

He had hoped for this, yes, he had been the one who had gotten Luke bitten. But the numbness was still being replaced with a sudden stab of sorrow for the brother he had lost.

Memories of a skinny boy with large blue eyes looking up at him as he explained the basic steps of throwing a knife. Those same blue eyes reflecting the flames of the twinning _parabatai_ ceremony, and the way they brightened with laughter as they shared countless numbers of jokes.

He looked up at Jocelyn and was shocked to see that her image was blurred with _tears._ He was crying. He was actually crying for the man who was trying to steal his wife, the man who had been stupid enough to defy him. Memories of New York and Luke with a werewolf brat in his arms as he comforted it rose to the surface of his mind, and Valentine realised that his brother had been long lost.

He was only just seeing it now.

Since his father's death it had seemed that Luke was drifting away from him, that things on which they had been so united on before were now differences between the two. Maybe it was him who had changed. He had been through sorrow and love, and had been given a higher purpose. He was having a child, a child of a new and better species. But whilst he had changed to become better, Luke had changed to become worse, and everything old and familiar seemed to be gone. His transformation now was a reflection of what Luke had become. A monster.

He was relieved to see that the tears had stopped, and he stood up, knowing what had to be done.

He had to slay what his former brother had become.


	6. The Cycle of the Moon

The first night of the full moon was exactly three weeks after the night Luke had been bitten.

Jocelyn had checked the lunar charts immediately after seeing Luke and had relayed the information to him and Valentine with a voice devoid of any emotion. A discussion led to the agreement that Luke would remain with them in the manor house until then, after which he could leave and go home if he didn't have a trace of lycanthropy. _When_ he didn't have lycanthropy, Jocelyn firmly avowed. So Valentine put it about that Luke was ill, and the three weeks passed quietly and uneventfully with a continual undercurrent of tension and worry to mar it all.

Jocelyn found that Valentine was extremely attentive and seemed to be in the house more because his _parabatai_ was there. He seemed happier to be just with her and less focused on politics and the Circle. She was enjoying seeing him this way. Jocelyn was also very happy to see Luke there every day, it broke the monotony of her days before he was bitten and she found that she wasn't as listless with her best friend in the manor. "It means I can keep an eye on you." she had laughed when Luke had asked her how she felt about the arrangement.

Luke, however, thought that she was the one who needed to be looked after. Although her bump was growing rapidly now, everything else about her seemed to be shrinking. She refused to eat after a certain time in the afternoon, and most of the time at meals her plate was left half full despite his and Valentine's pleas with her. The morning sickness she had had in the start of her pregnancy looked as though it was returning, and the nightmares were continuing. Luke had woken up on his second night there to her screams and sobs, punctuated by Valentine's soft reassurances. Because of these Valentine had made him change rooms to one on the top floor so his sleep wasn't as disturbed, but he still awoke every other night with his heart frantically beating in terror and sympathy. He wanted to talk to Valentine about it, to see if there was anything he could do, but Luke could see that he was worried enough already with her state. So he kept his thoughts to himself.

Valentine was worried about Jocelyn. A lot. According to his calculations, she still had at least 8 weeks to go until the baby was at full term gestation. Some days it was hard for him to give her the infusion and injection, looking at the shadows under her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks. But the child was growing rapidly now and was strong enough that Valentine heard its heartbeat loudly when Jocelyn was sleeping. It was going to be the beginning of such a superior race that he knew it was going to be worth the trouble in the end. He did not like to do these things to his wife, but it was a necessity. And Jocelyn was strong. She would survive anything and everything, this he knew. Luke being there was a burden to his experiments, but he slept heavily and kept to his room mostly so it wasn't too hard to hide from him. The magic he had learnt was also helping, and it was getting easier now to convince Jocelyn that the pain of the demon blood working and his other experiments were figments of her nightmares.

And so the three weeks passed, and during the first night of the full moon the very house seemed to await with bated breath.

* * *

Jocelyn sat with her jaw clenched firmly shut on the bed and her eyes locked on Valentine's, both silently waiting as the hours ticked by. There was no infusion to be given that night, as Valentine had concluded that at the child's development now the demonic ichor should be given to her every two nights rather than every night, and then every night once more when it was at 36 weeks gestation. He did not admit to himself that he was also doing it to try and give her a break. Tonight her eyes were brighter than he had remembered them being for a while, and he quenched the slight guilt of her condition before it could fully develop.

As the clock in the room ticked to 10, a sudden race of footsteps and a harsh gasping sounded on the stairs, and the front door was thrown open so forcefully that the wedding photo fell off the table with a crash. Valentine and Jocelyn stared at each other in a dull horror. Wordlessly, Valentine picked up the frame and a few slivers of glass slid out, cracking further on the floor. He took a deep breath and tried to remember the spell to repair it, feeling only a slight relief as the glass began to repair itself. A numbness seemed to be dulling his capacity to feel anything else, a sense that was increased as he turned around and saw the ice of Jocelyn's posterior start to crack.

A sudden pain gripped him, a pain so violent that he fell to his knees. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, all he knew was the pain. It suddenly peaked, and he was struggling not to vomit. Dimly he was aware of Jocelyn's voice screaming his name. It ebbed away gradually, and he became aware of Jocelyn's hands pressed against his shoulder and the fact that his shirt was sticking to him with an odd substance that looked like blood but couldn't be blood unless maybe he'd fallen on some glass or something-

Jocelyn lifted her hands and went to grab his, and he noticed they were covered in an ashy dark liquid. A liquid that meant only one thing.

His _parabatai_ rune, the bond tying him to Luke was gone.

He had hoped for this, yes, he had been the one who had gotten Luke bitten. But the numbness was still being replaced with a sudden stab of sorrow for the brother he had lost.

Memories of a skinny boy with large blue eyes looking up at him as he explained the basic steps of throwing a knife. Those same blue eyes reflecting the flames of the twinning _parabatai_ ceremony, and the way they brightened with laughter as they shared countless numbers of jokes.

He looked up at Jocelyn and was shocked to see that her image was blurred with _tears._ He was crying. He was actually crying for the man who was trying to steal his wife, the man who had been stupid enough to defy him. Memories of New York and Luke with a werewolf brat in his arms as he comforted it rose to the surface of his mind, and Valentine realised that his brother had been long lost.

He was only just seeing it now.

Since his father's death it had seemed that Luke was drifting away from him, that things on which they had been so united on before were now differences between the two. Maybe it was him who had changed. He had been through sorrow and love, and had been given a higher purpose. He was having a child, a child of a new and better species. But whilst he had changed to become better, Luke had changed to become worse, and everything old and familiar seemed to be gone. His transformation now was a reflection of what Luke had become. A monster.

He was relieved to see that the tears had stopped, and he stood up, knowing what had to be done.

He had to slay what his former brother had become.

 


	7. Family

"And I told her, look here lady, just because I-Jocelyn, Jocelyn? Darling, are you alright?"

Jocelyn smiled wanly at her mother. "Just tired Mother. I'm sorry, please continue."

Adele Fairchild, a tall, stately woman in her late forties stood and gently laid a cool hand on her daughter's forehead. "You're quite warm, darling. Do you perhaps want to go and lie down?"

Jocelyn forced the smile to be wider. "No, Mother. I suppose it is just the baby making me feel this way. I'm alright, really." She made herself look into the concerned green eyes she had inherited. "Honestly."

"If you say so, baby." She kissed Jocelyn on the forehead. "I remember feeling this way when I was carrying you. The last few weeks are always the hardest in my experience. You look like you've dropped too, which probably isn't helping." Jocelyn's mother worked in Idris as what mundanes called a midwife. It meant that Adele Fairchild was one busy woman. Her advice was sought constantly, and she was currently in talks with the Silent Brothers to increase the size of the hospital care unit for new mothers and their children. It also meant that whenever she visited or talked to her daughter, she bombarded her with stories about her patients.

"Adele?" A cheerful, light voice, the voice of Granville Fairchild II, came floating through the doorway. "Honey, I think you'll love what Valentine found! Come here and see!"

Adele pursed her lips slightly at the name of her daughter's husband. They had been so young to get married, even for Shadowhunters, and although she had never actually told her daughter outright, Jocelyn could tell that she didn't trust Valentine. The one time Jocelyn had asked her mother about her suspicion all she had got was the cryptic reply of "As long as he loves you and you love him, and he is treating you right, I have no reason to give you other than a mother's foolish wish to keep her baby beside her forever." But since the pregnancy, Adele had been trying to build a relationship with her son-in-law. She had given him an adorable father's souvenir book for when the baby was born and a _lot_ of parenting tips.

"I'm on my way, sweetheart!" Adele smiled wryly at her daughter and laid a hand on her bump. "Be nice to your mother whilst I am gone," she told her grandchild sternly. Jocelyn forced a laugh as her mother left the room with the Shadowhunter grace she had never lost despite no longer going on missions for the Clave.

The tears barely waited before her mother left the room. Jocelyn sobbed silently as the quiet voices of her parents and her husband laughed and talked. Jocelyn had never been one to cry before. But recently, it seemed as though she could never stop.

It wasn't really the pregnancy, although she felt absolutely terrified as the end crawled closer and closer. It was slightly the fact that since Luke's death, Valentine was in his own house for about ten minutes a day. But it was mostly that she missed her best friend, and the pain of it was like a physical wound on her heart.

Luke had returned in the early hours of the morning after the full moon, limping and covered in blood, a look of such fear and confusion in his eyes. The dawn had burst with a terrible beauty as Valentine had thrust her behind him, yelling about the baby as though Luke was going to rip it out of her with claws that were still retracting, his black eyes burning like fire. As he pulled Luke along to the woods, Luke had looked back at her and she had met his gaze desperately, knowing that it would be the last time she would see those steadfast eyes. She knew Valentine and she knew Luke. She knew what Luke would ask and what Valentine would offer. She knew that the blue-studded _kindjal_ would have new blood on its blade by the end of the morning.

When Valentine had returned, hours later, he had found her crumpled form on the porch, sobbing for the loss of her best friend.

The tears shuddered slowly to a stop, and Jocelyn took in large deep breaths as she calmed. She wiped her eyes and stood up to join her family as her father bounded joyfully into the room.

Granville Fairchild II was also tall, with a curly crop of greying bright red hair and laughing hazel eyes. Jocelyn had often wondered grumpily before she met Valentine about how she was so short when her parents were so tall. He had many laughter lines and a wide grin that appeared whenever he was delighted by something, which was often. He was fascinated with mundane technology and how it worked, and whenever he went on a mission outside of Idris he would always bring something he deemed "superbly wonderful" back with him. He had begged his daughter to let him develop her wedding photos in a mundane shop and had delightfully told her about the experience in painstaking detail afterwards. His wide smile faded now as he looked at Jocelyn.

"Jocelyn, dear? Are-are you alright?"

"Yes Father, I am fine-"

His face blushed bright red, and he gestured to the floor with a shaking hand. "Are-are you sure?"

Jocelyn looked down and saw a puddle of water on the floor underneath her. Her mouth dropped open into a startled 'o' and her father turned almost purple.

"Adele? Adele! Valentine!"

Jocelyn was vaguely aware over the buzzing of shock in her ears of her husband and her mother's grips on her arms. She looked up to see Valentine's beaming face and her mother yelling at her father. She smiled tremulously at the scene and began to walk, joy stealing over her for the first time since Luke had died.

She was going to meet her child soon.


	8. The Birth and the Death

Of course, joy had quickly faded to panic.

"It's early. 6 weeks early." Jocelyn heard Valentine whisper tersely to her mother. Her mother paled slightly, but said nothing as she settled the bedcovers in the room prepared for the birth. A bubble of worry so strong it was overwhelming suddenly came over Jocelyn, and she clutched a bedpost to steady herself. How had she forgotten that?

"Will they be ok?" she demanded. Her mother jumped slightly and Valentine looked at her sharply, his countenance unreadable.

"I forgot you had ears like a vampire." Her mother smiled, but Jocelyn could detect the worry behind it. "All it means, sweetheart, is that we will have to keep an eye on him or her and just monitor you closely. I'm sure they'll be fine. Come here and sit down."

Jocelyn sat gently on the bed, wincing slightly as pain crept along her stomach. Her mother placed a hand on her bump, counting under her breath until the pain passed. Valentine looked on, his eyes burning into Jocelyn's with a mixture of fear and elation.

"Judging by the length of that contraction, you're on your way, but not far enough that the baby will be here in the next ten minutes. I reckon you have about four or five hours of labour to go." Adele deftly plaited Jocelyn's hair and pressed a kiss to her temple. She turned to Valentine. "And you will unfortunately have to leave as well. The birthing process is not one for partners, especially when they look like you do." She gestured to the pallor of Valentine's face and his shaking hands. "Out."

Valentine walked slowly out of the room, his eyes never leaving Jocelyn's. "I'll be back. You can do this. I love you." The tone with which the words were said were like a promise, a secret only they knew. Jocelyn frowned in bewilderment and winced again as the pain shot through her. Her mother turned around and clucked sympathetically. "I know. There are no runes you can have either, and this pain is going to get a lot worse. A Silent Brother is on his way, okay? Try to get comfortable on your side. You're in for a rough evening."

* * *

By the end of the second hour, Jocelyn was fighting not to scream with each contraction. There was barely a minute's break between them all now and there was also some blood, something she could tell her mother worried about and which she knew from her research was rarely a good sign. Her mother's hands were shaking slightly as she laid out a contraption on the table.

"What's that for?" Jocelyn asked through gritted teeth. Her mother took a long time to reply.

"In case the baby is not breathing when they are born."

* * *

Valentine was wearing down the carpet in the library. He knew this, he could feel that there was less friction underneath his feet as he paced. Yet he could not stop. His father-in-law watched him worriedly over a large book. All Valentine could think about was what Jocelyn was going through and what the child was going through. Would they survive? Jocelyn was not only giving birth, but she was giving birth to an entirely new species. Regular Shadowhunter births were dangerous enough, and Valentine was terrified as her health had been so precarious. A Silent Brother still had not arrived due to complications, and it looked as though Adele would be the only other person present at the birth. Certainly the child itself was strong, but it was early. Because it was the first of its kind, nothing could be certain about it. He was mentally kicking himself now for decreasing the amount of injections. How he wished to be up there, but he knew that if he tried to be Adele and Granville would be too suspicious and everything he had worked for would be ruined.

When the first scream came, the two men jumped and Valentine stopped pacing. They looked at each other and Valentine for the first time fully appreciated that he had someone in the room who cared about Jocelyn almost as much as he did. Granville cleared his throat.

"It means she's near the end now. It's a good sign." His voice was slightly wobbly, but he nodded firmly at Valentine. "I'll go and put the kettle on, make us some tea. You're nearly a father now." He clapped Valentine's shoulder as he walked out.

" _Nearly a father."_ The words brought back memories of a tall man with the build and eyes Valentine had inherited. They brought back memories of a father whose eyes shone with pride when Valentine had first hit the centre of a target with a knife and of a man who stared mercilessly down as his slap echoed around the room. Valentine shook off the memories and resumed his pacing, his self-control slipping with every scream that echoed into the room.

* * *

"No more, no more, NO MORE!" Jocelyn screamed as yet another contraction ripped through her. Her body seemed to be tearing itself apart as she pushed downwards, her muscles turning into liquid fire.

"Go with it darling. You're almost there, I can see the baby's head." Her mother's voice was calm and steady, and was the only thing that convinced Jocelyn to go with the pain and push one final time. She could feel only an immense relief as the child was born.

"He's not crying," she heard her mother mutter as she swiftly cut the umbilical cord and rushed over to the table she had prepared. Jocelyn felt swooping shock and worry replace the exhaustion and relief. _"My son."_ she thought. _"My son. I have a son."_

"Is he ok?" She struggled to sit up, trying to reach for her baby. Her stomach felt oddly empty and shrunken. She touched it wonderingly, feeling completely and utterly disorientated. "Is my baby ok!"

"Darling, he's fine. He's… Perfect, actually. Seems completely healthy to me. I think he's just a bit shocked. Good size, good weight, breathing fine. I'll bring him over."

She walked over to the bed, a blanketed bundle in her arms and tear tracks on her face. Jocelyn reached out hungrily and took her baby boy into her arms.

She let her gaze run over him, trying to memorise every last detail. He had a tuft of blonde hair like his father's, and the long little fingers that poked out of the blanket were undeniably like hers. He fit perfectly into her arms, and seemed so small and so delicate. She laughed softly, happiness and love spreading through her and making her dizzy.

As if awoken by the noise, the baby opened his eyes. Jocelyn froze, horror washing over her and making her feel as though acid was dissolving her very bones. _"Every mother knows her own child."_ Her mother's words from a story she had told a while ago flooded back to her, and Jocelyn realised that the opposite was also true. This child in her arms with its black eyes, eyes darker than even Valentine's was not hers. Every instinct in her was screaming it. She looked desperately up at her mother, forcing herself to keep a hold on the baby.

Adele was crying forcefully into a tissue, beaming at the spectacle before her. She kissed Jocelyn's forehead. "My baby, a mother. How do you feel?"

" _As though I'm being bathed in acid."_ Jocelyn forced a smile. How could her mother not see it? How could her mother not realise that this was not her grandson?

"I know it's a lot to take in." Her mother grimaced, looking down. "Ah. The afterbirth is on its way. Hold on darling, I know this is going to be painful, but breathe through it. This is the last bit of labour."

Jocelyn barely felt the afterbirth. She had not believed in broken hearts before, but as she held the baby that was _not hers_ she could physically feel her heart splintering and cracking. She tore her eyes away from the baby's face as the door opened to reveal Valentine. He seemed to drink in the sight of her and the child, ignoring her mother at the end of the room as she disposed of the bloody sheets.

"It's a boy!" Adele called back to him. His eyes lit up as he grinned maniacally.

"Well then. His name is Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern."


	9. Fire

Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern was asleep swaddled in the blanket his grandmother had sewed adoringly for him, the initials J.C.M crumpled in his tiny baby fist. His mother was sat next to him, staring down at his sleeping form.

To others, it might have seemed like a beautiful tabloid. A mother looking after her newborn son. To Jocelyn, it was a horrible one. A mother who could not _stand_ her own newborn son.

It was at times like these, when Jonathan was sleeping, that Jocelyn could pretend everything was fine. That she was a normal, loving, doting mother. But as soon as those dark eyes opened, reality always kicked her in the stomach.

" _He's so beautiful Jocelyn." Valentine was cradling his son reverently, and the baby was blinking up at him, his mouth puckering as his father spoke, almost as though he were talking along with him. At the sight Jocelyn broke down again._

" _You don't see it?" she sobbed. Valentine was staring at her in confusion and bewilderment. "See what?" he asked, his voice slightly wobbly and maybe even hopeful-_

" _He's not right! There's something wrong with him! He didn't cry when he was born. Look at his eyes, he doesn't even look human-" Jocelyn's sobs and exhaustion rendered her incomprehensible after this point. Valentine moved closer to her, taking her hand._

" _He's_ ** _our_** _son. He's your child." His voice was now calm, under control, although his face was as white as marble. "I think you're just tired at the moment. Try and get some rest, and when you wake up I promise you everything will be fine. I promise you there is nothing wrong with you or with him. I love you both."_

_He then sat next to her, holding her hand and the baby, until she fell asleep. Just before she closed her eyes, however, what looked suspiciously like betrayal flooded across his features._

Jocelyn felt like he was right to feel betrayed. Valentine loved his son. In stark contrast to when she was pregnant, he now only left the house to attend Circle meetings. Every moment when he was home he was babbling to his child whilst Jocelyn watched silently, getting on with whatever she felt needed to be done. He had also taken to getting up in the night constantly to check on him, letting her lay in bed if Jonathan needed feeding or changing. Her husband's kindness to her and love for their child always felt like a slap in the face to Jocelyn. How could he be the perfect father and husband, and she be reduced to so little?

She _was_ little more than a shell now. Her paintbrushes and canvases had been so long untouched they were gathering third and fourth layers of dust. All she seemed to be was pity and self-hatred, and when she remembered the vibrant and joyful person she used to be it angered her. But that anger was a dull flicker in the fire she had lost.

A bright flame appeared in the middle of the room, and Jocelyn reached for it with trembling fingers. Opening the fire message, she read the few lines it contained and watched as it shriveled into ashes, the fire of the parchment reigniting emotions she had thought were gone forever.


	10. Reunions

_Jocelyn,_

_I know that if Valentine found out about this letter and the contents, the consequences would be disastrous. Therefore, I will make this short and quick._

_Lucian Graymark is alive. There has long been rumours of a werewolf who was once a Shadowhunter leading the pack by the eastern border, but I wanted to be sure before I told you. I have visited the encampment and seen him. He would like very much to see you, and I know that you probably want to see him. If you do want to see him, come by my manor and I will take you. If you do not, simply disregard this letter._

_Ragnor Fell_

* * *

 

There was a woman sitting on the bed in the master bedroom of the Fairchild manor, but it was not the same woman that had been sitting there five minutes previously. There was still a haunted look on her face and too-prominent cheekbones, but there was a light in her eyes, a light of purpose and shock.

Her son opened his mouth in a silent plea for food, his dark eyes opening and focusing on Jocelyn. She slowly and methodically lifted him up and took him downstairs to prepare a bottle for him. Even the fact that he still was not crying, had never cried in his short life, had no effect on this Jocelyn. There was no bitter stab to her heart as she held the bottle to his mouth. She was too busy marvelling and grieving at the sudden colour the world seemed to have come in to. " _Luke's alive, he's_ _ **alive**_ _,"_ was repeating itself like a mantra in her head, and she suddenly burst out into hysteric laughter.

"My wife seems to be feeling better." Valentine walked into the room, smiling and shrugging off his jacket. Jocelyn sobered, but was unable to keep the grin off her face. "What is so funny to the little mother?"

"Jonathan was refusing to burp, and the face of disgust he was making made me laugh." Jocelyn was quick to reply with the lie as Valentine took his son from her.

"Resisting your mother? That's something not many can do." He kissed her, and not for the first time Jocelyn found herself holding back from it. To disguise it, she squeezed his hand as she stood up.

Valentine took her vacated seat and began burping Jonathan, his face turned downwards towards his son so that she could not see his expression.

"Valentine, I've been thinking. I have not left this house in months, and I was wondering if maybe tonight I could go for a ride? It's been so long, and I just-"

"Say no more. Of course you can go." Jocelyn was expecting an argument at the very least, and the rapid consent shocked her. As did the wide smile breaking across Valentine's face. "I have been so worried about you. It'll do you good to get out of the house. Of course you can go."

Confused, Jocelyn left the room, and Valentine smiled down at the baby blinking sleepy black eyes at him. "She's feeling _better._ Maybe soon we can tell her what you are, son. Maybe soon she will finally understand everything."

* * *

Jocelyn rode out to Ragnor Fell's manor as the day turned to night. He was standing outside his front door, lazily smoking a pipe which he dropped as he saw Jocelyn.

"I didn't expect you so soon."

"Is it true?"

Ragnor's expression was extremely gentle as he upturned Jocelyn's face with green fingers. "It's only too true." He tutted. "Jocelyn, just look at the state you're in! These-" he poked Jocelyn's cheeks, "could cut ice. And those shadows under your eyes put my skin to shame." His eyes raked over her as Jocelyn fought to keep her emotions in check. "Tell me about it on the way."

As they walked through Brocelind forest, Jocelyn told Ragnor everything, from her dreams to her fear that Jonathan was not hers. Ragnor remained mercifully silent until she had finished. When she had stopped talking, he stopped her in the middle of the forest and hugged her tightly.

Jocelyn held him back, surprised. Ragnor Fell was close to her family, and they had always called on him if they were ill or needed anything. But there had always been a distance between them - the obvious segregation between Shadowhunters and warlocks. Never before had she seen him do anything more than lay a hand on one of them to perform spells. She could only imagine Valentine's horror if he had seen his wife hugging a Downworlder. When Ragnor drew back from her, he was shaking his head in anger. "Jocelyn. Little Jocelyn. What you're going through - not even a Shadowhunter deserves to go through what you are going through."

She simply nodded her head wearily in acknowledgment. They walked the rest of the way to the werewolf encampment in silence, the emptiness she felt at telling her story being replaced by a bundle of nerves and fear.

The werewolf camp was larger than she had expected it to be. A large fire burnt in the centre, and roughly hewn caves surrounded it that seemed to be made out of large, tall boulders. It made Jocelyn feel supremely inferior, and she could see with her artist's eye the colours the fire must have shone across flashing blades and the red of fear and blood on the night Valentine and Luke had attacked here. She was snapped out of her daze by rumbling growls. Luke, thinner and paler than she could ever remember him being stepped out of the largest cave to the right of the fire, flanked by two huge and hulking wolves.

He spotted her and waved off the two wolves guarding him. Before Jocelyn knew it she was running, and so was he, and they both collapsed on their knees too close to the fire for comfort but Jocelyn relished the heat and the pain of finally being able to breathe without grief with him in her arms.

Their meeting was brief, full of mixed emotions and confessions. Yet Jocelyn held back from telling him about Jonathan, and Luke held back from telling her his feelings for her. But even with the secrets the meeting was sweet and poignant. To Luke it felt as though only ten minutes had passed when Jocelyn stood up to leave with Ragnor. The warlock nodded at the werewolf before leading Jocelyn back through the forest.

After a short conversation with Ragnor, Jocelyn rode back home, her heart feeling somehow lighter and heavier than before.


	11. Experiments

When Jocelyn walked back into the manor, smiling and breathless, she had been handed a restless Jonathan and a kiss from an apologetic husband who barely waited until she was inside the house before he walked out of the door. Sighing, she tried to awkwardly shrug her gear jacket off whilst Jonathan shifted restlessly in her arms. When she had finally been able to manage that task, she had been faced with the much more daunting one of setting her son to sleep, alone. She was barely able to make it into her own bed when sleep took her, the revelations of the day spinning around her head.

She was awoken barely two hours later by a wailing cry.

She sat bolt upright in the bed, open mouthed with astonishment and relief. That must be _Jonathan._ She padded silently to the nursery in awe that Jonathan was finally crying. Maybe she really was wrong. Maybe she really had been sick and-

Disappointment and despair filled her as she looked into the crib. Jonathan was sleeping soundly, a pink fist stuffed into his mouth. The pain of that realisation felt like the first time she had looked into his eyes, and she had to hold the doorframe and blink back tears as she regained control of herself. Breathing in deep breaths, she turned to walk back to her bedroom when she heard the cry again, for louder and longer this time. Dread coiled in her stomach as she realised where the cry was coming from.

She scooped up a witchlight as she walked down the stairs, past the ground floor, to the place in the manor she had not visited in at least a year. Jocelyn pushed on the handle of the basement door as the cries reached a crescendo.

She scrabbled for the brick in the wall that concealed where the key was placed, noting distantly that it was much looser than it had been the last time she had been here. The cries cut out suddenly, and Jocelyn almost broke the key in the door in her fright and shock. Her knees were trembling and her mouth was dry, but so were her eyes. She opened the door and let the witchlight flare out from between her fingers.

What hit her first was the smell, the awful perfume of corpses and body ablutions, blood and decay. She choked and blinked, raising her hand higher. She immediately regretted that action.

Jocelyn would never know how she did not throw up or pass out at the sight before her. What used to be an innocent wine cellar had been hollowed out and extended, and ghastly sharp metal bars created crude cells with _things_ in them. She walked down and along the place slowly. The first few contained demon creatures bound with electric chains, so still that she wasn't sure if they were alive or dead. Her eyes focused on paper tacked next to the cells covered in Valentine's meticulous handwriting, detailing the species and what had been done to them. The cries she had heard must have come from one of them. She forced herself to keep walking. There was a slight break in-between the cells she had just seen and others, cells made this time from different materials. Cells detailing crimes much, much worse. Jocelyn had to bite down onto her hand to keep from screaming as she looked around.

These cells contained Downworlders, all in various states of dying and death. Vampires with their heads held down in what must have been holy water in cells covered in holy markings. Werewolves in chains and cells of silver, bodies disfigured and in some cases completely disintegrated. Faeries who had been bound to chairs of cold iron, the agony of torture clear in eyes that could have been dead or alive. Somehow Jocelyn was able to see this and read the notes accompanying each cell, dictating how long it had taken for these creatures to die and what Valentine had done to them. Jocelyn had to clutch the wall as she read how he had burned the skin off of one poor vampire to see whether there was a point where they could no longer regenerate. There didn't seem to be, so Valentine had drowned the vampire in holy water.

Jocelyn stumbled back to the door, feet catching in stones and substances she didn't want to know the names of. She slipped and pulled a notebook off the wall in her efforts to stay upright. She didn't want to know what it contained, she couldn't handle any more, but an instinct she couldn't control made her flip to the front.

_Valentine Morgenstern_

_After my other experiments (see notes A1 through to A10) I was reading about the abilities it would allow me to have and I stumbled across information about demonic ichor. "The blood of demons will work as an amplifier of the powers Shadowhunters are naturally born with." Q1767,H.S.S. Naturally I read up on all of the information about this I could and have decided to try this on myself._

_I1-Taken just after midday. Nothing happened except illness and shaking for approximately 94 minutes after injection. No other side effects. Will try again._

_I2-I tried taking this in the morning, before food. Illness occurred again, worse this time, and a headache accompanied it for the entire day. Will try once more. If effects stay the same, I will cease this experiment._

_I3-There was no change in symptoms._

_I have decided, after further reading and my results, that I am too old for the demonic ichor to affect me. For the results described in my research, I conclude that it must be given to a young child-preferably one as yet unborn._

There was a heading on the page next to this one with a name Jocelyn had to reread twice.

_Jocelyn Morgenstern_

_Pregnant. I have concluded that at this current moment in time she is currently at 5 weeks gestation. The time period from 1 week to 12 weeks are the most crucial in a child's development. I will begin the injections from tonight, and they will be given to her daily for maximum effect._

_I1-No ill effects. J.M slept throughout the night, although she had illness this morning. Could be unrelated to injection, but I have not ruled it out._

Jocelyn read on, fingers trembling and her mind screaming as the first few weeks of her pregnancy were described. How had he known her symptoms, especially as he had barely in the house at the time?

_I21-J.M suffering from nightmares, tells me they're about the baby. Sign that the child is changing, and I think that the experiment is working. No visible changes in her, but the child is what concerns me._

Jocelyn was shaking so hard that it was a wonder she could read the words written on the pages.

_I110-Today the child moved for the first time. It is early according to most research. This means that the baby is developing well and rapidly. J.M has slight physical changes of breast size and stomach size._

The words were burning themselves into Jocelyn's brain. She was whimpering unknowingly, blood running down her chin from her biting into her lip.

_I199-Today J.M showed signs of increased power. Emotions were stronger, and when confronted she moved at a speed much faster than her usual pace. She was physically stronger too-I had to restrain her and sedate her with magic to make her forget. If this is what she is like with the injections, what will the child be like? The possibilities are astounding._

_I120-Last night, whilst J.M was sleeping, I heard the child's heartbeat, stronger than any human heart, truly sounding the beginning of a new generation of Shadowhunters, the blood of angels and demons mixed to produce powers beyond any previously imagined possible. Experiment is working well._

Jocelyn's mind raced back to events she thought were dreams, to memories of a man with eyes like a shark's. Of a paranoia and fear she had dismissed as being her imagination.

_I230-Due to the stress and illness of J.M, I have decided to decrease the frequency of the injections from daily to every two days. It is also to slow the child's development slightly to allow it to recover._

How days would be either clear or muddled without an in-between, she had attributed it to grief…

_I252-Nightmares for J.M as usual, but this could also be because of emotional trauma. Child's feet and hands visible when it moves._

_This was the last injection given. Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern was born at_ 32 _weeks gestation, healthy and wonderful. Mother recovering, but may have post-natal depression. Treating her with remedies and magic._

_Notes continued in Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern._

Jocelyn lifted other notebooks from behind the door, but there was nothing she could find relating to Jonathan. She numbly placed all notebooks back and left the cellar, replacing the key exactly where it had been before walking back upstairs. She went into the nursery and stared down at her sleeping child, the child with more demon blood running through his veins than her own. Watching his tiny chest rise and fall, she thought about what she had just discovered and matched it with everything she had ever known about Valentine. Internally, realisations and discoveries were made, but outwardly Jocelyn's expression did not change. As the sun rose, Jocelyn went back into her room and meticulously dressed and cleaned the blood off of her face and hands.

When Valentine arrived home, his wife rose to greet him with a smile and green eyes as clear and dangerous as shards of glass.


	12. Emotions Always Bleed Through Facades

Valentine was ecstatic as he left the Circle meeting. The cheers of his followers as he had relayed his plans for the approaching Accords echoed in his ears, their vicious excitement thrumming through his veins. He grinned to himself as he made his way home, looking forward to telling Jocelyn.

"Valentine!" the voice of Stephen Herondale destroyed his reverie, and Valentine turned around to see the young man running to catch up to him on the path. He was smiling as he reached Valentine, but it was a poor one and Valentine could see the truth in his eyes.

Stephen was becoming scared. He wanted to back out of the Circle, he wanted to have no part in the Uprising. He wanted to leave the young wife Valentine had kindly found for him, after he would have been forever disgraced for being married to a werewolf's sister. The wife who was also pregnant with another child destined for greatness. And it had never escaped Valentine's notice that Stephen still loved and kept in touch with the monster's sister.

Beauty was a weapon that could be used for and against a person. It was a shame that Stephen Herondale had such large, expressive blue eyes and sculpted facial features. Because of his beauty, everyone could see his thoughts and feelings. And he would die because of it.

Valentine pulled his thoughts back to the situation at hand and smiled widely back at the man in front of him. "Stephen." He shook his hand, watching as Stephen's face broke out into a relieved smile. Pathetic. "How's Céline doing?"

"She's alright, yes. Feeling a little bit poorly, but apparently that's to be expected in this stage." Stephen's smile stiffened. "She and I wanted to thank you for the health potions. Céline says she always feels so much better after taking them."

"You and she are very welcome. Jocelyn had a very rough pregnancy. I know how it feels to be worried not only for her but for the baby too. I was more than happy to give the potions to you two."

"We will be eternally grateful to you." Stephen ran a runed hand through his blonde curls and checked the watch hanging on his other wrist. He sighed when he saw the time, and gave Valentine a very false look of regret. "I'll let you go on your way home, then. Céline worries about me if I stay out too long. Give my best wishes to Jocelyn."

"Thank you, Stephen. Have a good night."

Stephen turned away, raising a hand in farewell. Valentine watched him walk away, his countenance as unreadable as marble.

* * *

Valentine walked up the stairs of the manor softly, unwilling to disturb his wife if she was asleep. He tiptoed into their room, shrugging off his gear jacket and weapons belt and letting them fall quietly to the floor. Jocelyn was lying on her side in bed, watching the moonlight cast its shadows on the sleeping Jonathan beside her. Valentine slid into the bed next to her and his arms made their way around her. He murmured softly against her neck, and Jocelyn fought back a shiver.

She didn't turn into his embrace, which worried him. He tightened his grip on her slightly and whispered an anxious question into her ear. She sighed as she slid out of his arms and picked up the baby. "I'm fine, Valentine. Just tired." She dropped a kiss onto his forehead to further imply her point, but for the first time in their relationship Valentine didn't believe there was any feeling behind the kiss.

His thoughts whirled quickly as he tried to think of things to help her with her depression. She had been in this state for too long. He smiled when he realised the answer to his problem. Ithuriel had plenty of blood left.

* * *

Jocelyn had to grab the doorway of Jonathan's nursery in order to keep herself upright, her intention of leaving the room being foiled by the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. She was exhausted. At nearly eight months old, Jonathan seemed to be going through a growth spurt and he demanded almost constant attention. Jocelyn still held out hope that he would one day cry, but knowing what she now knew it was a slim hope. He left her barely any time to sleep, and when she did finally close her eyes the danger of the man asleep beside her forced them back open.

It had been a painful four months since she had opened that cellar door and found out who Valentine really was. At first, all she had been feeling was an intense anger, anger towards Valentine for doing these things, anger towards herself for being foolish enough to love him. She had watched him and her son sleep with a dagger she could not bring herself to use clutched between numb fingers. Then it had been intense sadness, where she had spent her days crying into her pillow mourning the child she had lost and the love she was losing, being too revolted to do anything more than basic duty as a mother to the child that was not truly hers. During that period she had been the most vulnerable, seeking Valentine's arms for some measure of comfort when he was in the house and hating herself for doing it at the same time. Now she was calmer, but the emotions had only become less intense. They had not left.

"Jocelyn." His soft voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. Valentine was watching her with such a tender concern in his expression that she wanted to break down and give in to the confusion of her emotions.

But she would not do that. She could never do that. She mastered herself, and when she faced him none of her feelings were playing out on her face. This she knew, and she knew that when she spoke, her voice would not betray her either. She had learned better. "I'm coming into bed now." She smiled at the cot. "I love just watching him sleep, don't you?"

He moved next to her, smiling too. "I know. We finally get some quiet." He shivered. "Jocelyn, it is freezing. How are you not cold? You've been standing here for almost an hour."

An hour? How had she been standing there for an hour? She grabbed his hand, laughing lightly to hide her shock. "I am not as sensitive as you are." She yawned widely. "I am incredibly tired, and I have every intention of sleeping whilst Jonathan finally is. I'm going back to bed. Are you coming too?"

Valentine shook his head. "I'm not tired yet. I'll stand here watching him for a while. You're right, it is amazing just watching him sleep."

Jocelyn nodded and dropped his hand. "Alright. Come back to bed soon." Valentine stopped her and kissed her, and when he felt her eyelids flutter shut he knew that there definitely was feeling behind this kiss. He pulled away reluctantly and watched her smile and leave the room. He realised he was grinning, and turned his gaze to his sleeping son.

"By the Angel, the things you are going to be capable of when you are older. Especially with your mother's genes in you." he whispered into the darkness of the room.


	13. Differences

Jocelyn walked slowly along the winding path leading to her parent's cottage, her Shadowhunter training allowing her to avoid stepping on the bright flowers that grew through the cracks. Jonathan was squirming in Jocelyn's arms, clearly expressing that he wanted to be let down on the strip of bright green grass in front of the cottage. Sighing heavily, Jocelyn was forced to stop and place him down onto the ground.

She stood there for a length of time she could not put a number to, feeling the coolness of the autumn wind whip through her coat. She was snapped out of her daze by the sound of her father's shout of greeting. Jocelyn suddenly felt a sharp pang of embarrassment for letting Jonathan crawl on the wet grass, and she leaned down and abruptly swooped him up again in her arms. Unsurprisingly, he did not like this, and Jocelyn was stunned at the strength in his tiny body as he fought again to be put down.

The smiling faces of her parents were suddenly all she could see as they descended on her, hugging her and Jonathan tightly. Adele Fairchild plucked Jonathan out of Jocelyn's arms and held him to her, cooing at the smile on his face. He had only recently started to do it, although all of Jocelyn's baby books had told her he should be smiling _and_ laughing by 5 months old. He had learned to crawl only a week ago, completely bypassing the creeping stage of development. It was as he had fallen back down to the floor that he had smiled, and it had caused an ache of sadness in Jocelyn's heart because she had seen then the vehement viciousness behind it. She had cried herself to sleep that night in an empty bed because the demon blood had twisted even happiness for her baby.

Looking at Jonathan now critically, she could see why everyone else did not see anything other than a normal happy child. The beauty of him drew attention away from his expressions. Nobody but her family had seen him yet, and whilst they all had noticed the darkness of his eyes, nobody had seemed to see the expression (or lack of it) in them. She wondered with the sharp pang that always came whenever she thought about Luke what he would think of Jonathan when this was all over. Luke would see the truth about him instantly, but would he admit it to himself? Jocelyn wasn't sure that he would.

Her father was asking her a question, and Jocelyn smiled and tuned back in to the conversation to hear what he was saying.

"…A cup of tea, maybe?"

"I can't, Father, Valentine really wants me to come to this party with him. Maybe later, though, when I come back to pick Jonathan up?"

Jocelyn never tired of the way joy lit up her father's entire demeanor and how it lit up her mother's expression in turn when she saw how happy he was. That intense joy would be the emotion he felt when Jocelyn told him that she would have a cup of tea with him was something that would never fail to amaze her.

"Ok, darling. We'll see you later, then. Go have fun!" Adele held Jonathan towards her and Jocelyn kissed his forehead, imagining the taste of bitter demon blood on her lips as she drew back. "Be good for your grandparents." she told him softly, but she somehow knew that the child was not missing the tone behind her words or the intensity of her gaze upon him.

* * *

Jocelyn was nervous, Valentine knew. Her hands on his arm were shaking slightly as she walked beside him to the Circle meeting, looking like a bright star with the fire of her hair and dress. A beautiful and fitting companion for one such as himself, he mused, staring at her. She looked to him and smiled, but he could see the fear behind it. He stopped walking abruptly twenty feet from the derelict house that was their destination, pulling her towards him. He tenderly tilted her head up so she was looking up at him, revelling in the way her body relaxed at the gentleness of his touch.

"It's going to be fine." She nodded, not tearing her gaze from his. "You're the wife of their leader, which makes you their Queen." He smiled at the steel that suddenly entered her expression, closing off the luminance of the green in her eyes. "There you go," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "Let's go in."

The murmur of voices quieted as Valentine and Jocelyn entered the room that would have been the living room if the house had been occupied. Several wide pairs of eyes and flashes of red greeted Valentine as he strode to the seats prepared for him and Jocelyn in the centre of the room. He began to hold out his hand to help Jocelyn to her chair, but the fire in her eyes told him to let her prove that her reputation had not been at all damaged despite not having been to Circle meetings or missions in eighteen months.

The meeting began, Valentine inevitably leaving his chair as his tone became heated with vindictive passion. Jocelyn quelled the absurd remarks from a newer recruit to his partner with a single retort halfway through the meeting, officially reclaiming her status. The meeting ended on yet another high, and Valentine could not help but smirk as he turned to talk to the loyal followers waiting behind.

Jocelyn was not nearly so happy. She had felt sickened by the cries of Valentine's followers and the violence of the ideas being thrown around. She had not wanted to cut off the whispers from the only person in the room who had seemed as unhappy as she was, but she knew that to hold on to Valentine's trust she had had to snap at him. It was crucial to Jocelyn's plans that he still trusted and loved her as much as he had done when they had first married, because only with a trusting Valentine could Jocelyn be in a position to kill him.

She smiled back at the shy smile Stephen Herondale gave her as he approached her chair. She stood up to face him, smoothing down non-existent creases on her dress.

"It's so good to see you again, Mrs. Morgenstern." he grinned. "How're you faring?"

"Oh, don't give me any of that crap, Stephen. Come closer so I can hug you!" Jocelyn reached up and pulled him down into a tight hug, looking over his shoulder for any sign of Amatis. She drew back with a slight frown. "Where is Amatis?"

The horror on Stephen's face made her freeze. "You don't know?" His voice was slightly breathless, as though Jocelyn had knocked the breath out of him with the simple mention of Amatis. All sorts of possibilities ran through Jocelyn's mind as Stephen opened his mouth again.

"We got divorced." Stephen shrugged heavily. Sadness and a dawning clarity fell upon Jocelyn as she stared at Stephen. "It wasn't working anymore. We had to end it." The rest of Stephen's words were drowned out as Jocelyn was assaulted with a memory.

" _Amatis?" Jocelyn stared at the woman trembling outside her front door. "Amatis, what are you doing here? It's pouring down with rain, why did you leave your house without even a coat on?"_

" _I had to come here, I have no one else to turn to! Jocelyn, I need you now, I need someone to talk to, and I cannot bear this pain for even a second longer-"_

" _Amatis, Amatis, slow down, come inside, sit down and we'll talk about whatever this is. Come on."_

 _The little colour in Amatis's face left her. "_ _**Whatever**_ _this is? Is this what it's going to be like between us now? Has he poisoned you that much?" She laughed hysterically, the broken notes of it digging into Jocelyn's ears like spikes. "I'm just the mad one, aren't I? That's all I am to you."_

" _Amatis, Amatis, no, please, that's not what I meant-"_

" _Liar." The venom in the words made Jocelyn stop her movements. "You are_ _ **exactly**_ _like them all. I don't know why I thought you would be different." She spat at Jocelyn's feet. Jocelyn was disgusted with herself when she automatically stepped back and Amatis's expression crumpled further. "I hope you rot in hell with him. With them all!"_

_The disappearing figure of the running Amatis took another shard of Jocelyn's heart with her. Too weary and sad to even make sense of the conversation, Jocelyn shut the door and leaned her head against it, the only thing she could register being that she had lost another friend."_

That had been six months ago. All Jocelyn could do was stare at Stephen as he began to talk about Valentine's kindness to him after the divorce, and how through him Stephen had met Céline. "We're having a baby too, Jocelyn. And I'm happy. Can you believe me in that?"

No, Jocelyn couldn't. She could deduce the true story behind Stephen's words and her heart ached for him and for poor Amatis. But she smiled anyway, patting Stephen's arm. "I understand, and I do believe you." The relief that spread across his face nearly broke her heart, and she looked around the room to see Michael Wayland watching her with a smile on his face. "I think Valentine wants to talk to you," she said, nodding at her husband, who was also watching them. "I'll see you next time, Stephen. I want to meet this Céline." She hugged Stephen again and waved at Michael.

The rest of the night was a whirl of greetings. Jocelyn vaguely remembered promising Maryse that she would take Jonathan over to hers to interact with her toddler Alec, laughing at jokes of various members of the Circle, and telling Michael that she would come over in the next few days to see his wife as she stumbled out. Valentine was half holding her up as they reached the manor, whispering to her that he would go and get Jonathan so she could get into bed and sleep.

But sleep would not come. Jocelyn had been weighed down with the realisation of what was going on around her and the knowledge that she was the one who would have to stop the Circle's plans from coming to fruition, not tiredness. Faces kept swimming in front of her eyes, tormenting her with their expressions. The stricken Amatis, the horrified Stephen, even the green eyes of the son she had dreamed of when she had felt the first kick from Jonathan in her womb. Jocelyn slammed her head onto her pillow to shake them away and felt sleep finally pull her into its depths.

* * *

Valentine sighed at the tear tracks on the sleeping Jocelyn's face. He reached down to stroke her hair, and she murmured in her sleep, flinching away from his touch. He hated seeing her like this. He hated the sadness that she was feeling and how it made him feel in return. He made up his mind and stalked to the cellar, determined that this would finally end. Half an hour later he was holding a bleary eyed Jocelyn up and helping her drink the "tea" he had made. Only when her eyes closed again and a peaceful smile made its way across her features did he kick off his shoes and lay down next to her.


	14. Comparisons

"But I cannot see how that is going to work… How do we do this in such a way where this works!"

Jocelyn started from where she was standing when she heard the screams of metal and Valentine as the tap was wrenched from its place. She could hear water splattering the bathroom door in front of her and she stepped back, fear coursing through her. She ran back along the corridor to their room silently and reached for the dagger hidden inside her pillow. She clutched it in numb fingers as the volume of Valentine's screams increased. The _enkeli_ rune carved on the handle of the blade winked at her in the moonlight peering through the gap in the curtains.

She ran her finger along the wickedly sharp tip of the dagger, feeling her heart rate slow down with the familiar weapon in her hands. Her father had given her the dagger when she was fourteen. It was a perfect weapon for delivering a killing blow, to demons and to people. It was always hidden in a place where she could quickly access it now. She breathed a sigh of relief when the sound of yells coming from the bathroom quieted to the sound of sobs.

She replaced the dagger and walked back down the corridor, this time making sure that Valentine could hear her soft footsteps. He opened the door before she had even reached it and she simply stood and looked at the way his eyes had reddened, at the discolouration of broken fingers. She walked slowly towards Valentine, her hand outstretched, in the way to approach wounded animals.

He gave another strangled sob as she reached him, her steady green eyes automatically calming him. He crushed her to him and whispered his fears into her hair whilst she held him despite the water drenching them both, murmuring nonsense to him as though he were as little as Jonathan.

He felt a small tug on his trousers and looked down to see Jonathan with his brow furrowed in concentration, using Valentine to pull himself up so he was standing. His arms and legs were wet with the water surrounding them and he was looking up at his father with a quizzical expression. "Father's fine." Valentine whispered to him, and Jocelyn jumped. She looked down at their son.

"How did you get out of your crib?" she asked him, and Valentine smiled at the innocent look Jonathan gave his mother.

Jocelyn sighed. "I'll change him and put him back into bed. What will we do about this mess in here?"

Valentine laughed. "Leave that to me."

She shook her head. "I'd better come back and find this whole thing cleared up." She left the bathroom, sloshing through the water with Jonathan in her arms.

When she left Jonathan's bedroom, Jocelyn felt her stomach drop as she found the bathroom looking as though it had never been damaged and the burnt sugar smell of magic.

* * *

Valentine smiled as he looked at the sleeping face of his wife. He propped an arm up to see her more clearly in the moonlight peering through the gap in the curtains. Valentine's smile widened when he noticed there were no tear tracks visible on her cheeks. He had been right about capturing the angel after all. Ithuriel's blood had had so many uses.

He had been slightly apprehensive about holding the angel captive. The fact that Ithuriel had been there in front of him was proof that there was a higher power, that there were both demons and angels. But seeing Ithuriel on his knees before him, seeing that higher power made _helpless_ before him, had told him this truly was his destiny. If he could make angels fall, surely he could make Downworlders fall. That is what he had told himself as he had stared at the broken tap in his hand. It was what held him together, made him strong despite the pressure of the Uprising.

He could do this. He wound the curls of Jocelyn's hair through his fingers, marvelling the fact that even in the dark her hair shone. They could do this.

* * *

Jocelyn sat in the elaborate parlour of the Lightwood manor, smiling as little Alec held up a toy sword for her to take. She felt slightly nauseous. "Is fa you!" he chirped, grinning at her with all the world's joy in his extraordinary eyes. Maryse looked up from the travel cot where she had laid a sleeping Jonathan, grinning at her boy. "Are you fighting for Jocelyn?" She swooped down on Alec, swinging him up in the air. "Aren't you my kind, clever boy! Yes, yes you are!"

The shrieks of Alec's laughter drove in to Jocelyn's head like spikes. She did not usually get along with Maryse, it was true. They both had strong personalities, and they had clashed together too many times to count. But there was a mutual respect between them, even if there wasn't affection, and that respect was the reason Jocelyn had agreed to this playdate for their two sons.

But looking at Maryse with Alec, Jocelyn felt as though she had swallowed sharp knives. The sharpness to Maryse's features and the hardness in her eyes all softened when she looked at her son, and Alec in turn looked at Maryse as though she was the sun in his sky. Jonathan looked at Jocelyn with an idle curiosity at all times. There had never been an expression of love in his features in the eleven months he had been alive.

She felt a small hand grab her leg. She looked down at Alec, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. "Here," she said to him, pressing the toy sword against his outstretched hand. "Use this to be the best Shadowhunter you can be."

"Da bes' Shadowhunter?" He looked up at Jocelyn, dark blue eyes serious.

"The best Shadowhunter."

Maryse smiled softly at the scene. "Of course you will be, darling. Now come on, it's nap time for you." Alec began to protest as Maryse took his hand. "Alec, what happens if you don't have a nap?" she asked sternly.

Jocelyn fought back a laugh as the small boy's shoulders crumpled. "I get gruwmpy." he answered sullenly.

"Exactly. Even though you'll be three soon, you still have to take naps, darling." A sudden loud knock startled Alec, and Maryse nodded at Jocelyn. Jocelyn smiled reassuringly at the disgruntled toddler and moved towards the door, opening it to discover an unfamiliar blonde woman standing there. When she looked up, Jocelyn was shocked by both her beauty and the baby bump pushing through her coat. She seemed terribly young, her beauty only highlighting her youth. She frowned slightly at Jocelyn, confusion evident on her features.

"Hi, I'm Jocelyn. Jocelyn Morgenstern. Who are you?"

The woman, girl really, looked at Jocelyn with wide brown eyes. There was a terrible vulnerability in her eyes.

"Jocelyn Morgenstern? Wife of Valentine Morgenstern?" Jocelyn nodded, and the girl's eyes grew impossibly larger. "I am so honoured to meet you!" Her accent seemed French and was lovely to hear. "I am Céline. Céline Herondale.

Jocelyn reeled internally, looking at Céline. _"So this is the girl Stephen was made to marry,"_ she thought. Jocelyn had wondered who Céline was, and had resolved to hate her for her part in Valentine's charade. But she found she could not call the emotion to her when she looked at Céline. Jocelyn simply smiled at her instead, wanting to put this girl at ease. "It's nice to meet you, Céline. Stephen's told me a lot about you."

It was clear that this was the right thing to say, as Céline's face glowed with pleasure.

"Céline, come in and sit down. It's not good for you or your baby to be constantly up on your feet." Maryse called.

* * *

Walking home, Jocelyn mused on what she had learnt about Céline. Jocelyn could tell she loved Stephen and her baby from the bottom of her heart. "It's a boy." she had told her, cradling her bump. "I have only got another three months left before I can hold him in my arms, and it seems as though I cannot wait another day." She avoided talking about her childhood, something Jocelyn noticed when she had artfully deflected Maryse's question about whether she had any siblings. But what was truly plain to see was how Céline worshipped Valentine. What she had told Jocelyn before she left echoed in Jocelyn's head.

"Your husband is so kind. He is so concerned about Stephen and me. He gives me potions and mixtures for the health of the baby, they are wonderful. Tell him I thank him again."

Jocelyn shook the memory free. As much as she had been shocked, she could not have said anything to Céline. Her husband was in the inner part of the Circle, now Valentine's second, and Céline clearly worshipped Valentine, so saying nothing was her only course of action. To distract herself, she recalled other parts of her visits, such as Alec asking for a hug before "the pwitty lady goes home" and at how Maryse had talked of her and Robert trying for a second baby soon-

Jocelyn stopped walking, nearly dropping Jonathan.

" _No."_

She counted backwards, double checking and triple checking the dates. She ran through how she was feeling, comparing it to the last time she had felt this way, and felt her legs buckle beneath her. She dropped to her knees on the path and let Jonathan wriggle out of her arms, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

She was pregnant.

_She was pregnant._


	15. Conflict

"Those are his plans, Luke."

Jocelyn was shaking slightly, and Luke ached to put his arms around her. He settled for squeezing her cold hands in his own instead.

"And he has called this the Uprising?"

"Yes."

"What does he even plan to do with the Mortal Cup?"

"I do not know." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "He came home with it last night. He told me of the way he took it, using a-a _demon,_ and how he got a facsimile and left that version in its place. But he did not tell me his plans about using it."

They were alone in front of the great fire of the encampment. Luke's pack were in their respective caves, and the disapproval and fear they felt at having a Shadowhunter in their midst bled through the air around them.

"Will you help me kill him?"

Luke glanced up at Jocelyn, shocked. Her gaze was steadfast on his face, her eyes burning in the light of the fire.

"It is the only way to stop him for good. We need to stop the Uprising from being successful, and that I know you will help me with. But even if we manage that, you and I both know that if he is still alive after it he will attack again and again. Killing him is the only way to prevent all of this from reoccurring." She held his hands tighter, her knuckles turning white. "So I will ask again. Will you help me kill him?"

Luke nodded, rage at what he had learned coursing through his veins, making the werewolf in him hum in anticipation. "I will."

* * *

"Do you think Jonathan enjoyed today, my wife?"

"Yes, Valentine, I think he did. He did well for his first birthday, didn't he?"

Jonathan had become annoyed and bored with the attention during his first birthday party, and had deliberately fallen asleep onto his cake, spattering every surface close to him with food. Everyone had cooed at his cuteness, but Jocelyn had seen the first smile of the day appear when she had carried him to his nursery away from all the noise.

Valentine grinned at her as he helped her clean the mess left behind by all the young guests who had attended. "The sword we picked was definitely the right one for him. He hasn't relinquished it even in his sleep, has he?

Valentine had explained to Jocelyn that in his family, all Shadowhunters were given a toy sword upon their first birthday to impress upon them their importance in the mission handed down by the Angel. She had agreed to continue the tradition with Jonathan, and Jonathan himself had loved his birthday present.

Jocelyn nodded and held back a wince as her aching back, already irritated with pregnancy, protested against her movements to remove the decorations on the walls. She did not even pause, knowing Valentine was watching her and he would notice immediately that something was wrong. And she could not afford to let that happen.

Finally the room was clean again, and Valentine held his hand out to Jocelyn. "Shall we go up?" She answered him with a smile and a kiss, although his hand in hers made her want to run far, far away.

* * *

Jocelyn gripped the sink harder as another spasm came and went. Her back was giving her its revenge for not acknowledging it earlier, and it was making it impossible for her to sleep. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the dark shadows under her eyes. She felt heavy with exhaustion, nausea making her stomach roll. Fear was such a constant emotion, always present, but she could not get used to its sharp pangs no matter how hard she tried to.

She unconsciously rubbed her stomach, where her child grew. She knew she could not be more than five or six weeks along, but she already loved this baby, had loved them since the realisation she was pregnant. It was with more caution than the way she had loved Jonathan when he was growing inside her, but she loved them still. She couldn't help it.

It had only been two days since her meeting with Luke, but the response had been overwhelming. A faerie knight had appeared in the manor gardens when she had been tending the flowers earlier and had told her that she had the Seelie Court's allegiance in this battle. Luke's pack were doing everything they could to alert other Downworlders inside and out of Idris to warn them about what was happening. The movement against the Circle was in motion.

Another spasm came, for longer this time, but it was weaker than the rest. Jocelyn sighed in relief. She was devoutly thankful that Valentine had been called out and would likely not be back until morning. With the Uprising so near, today had been the first time he had spent longer than just a few hours in the house. She was lucky that he was out so often, so he did not notice her morning sickness or her discomfort.

There was no way that Valentine could find out about this baby. If he knew she was pregnant, he would claw his way out of even Death's arms to her, Jonathan and this baby, and he would claim them and her for his own. And then they would never be able to escape.

She could not afford to let that happen. She would not _let_ that happen.

She looked into the mirror and was pleased to see that she made an imposing figure against the blue of the bathroom wall.

* * *

The Cup was gleaming against the dark oak of his desk, almost mockingly so.

It was distracting.

There was less than two months to go until the Accords. Less than two months to go until the Uprising. And nothing was as ready as he would have liked it to be.

He paced, his anger growing. He swallowed the yell of frustration building in his throat, grabbing the end of the desk instead to try to control himself. It creaked alarmingly, but some of his frustration ebbed.

A short knock on his door made him jump. It was pushed open, and Jonathan stood there, with his sword clutched tightly in his small fist.

The boy gazed up at Valentine, unabashed. Valentine let go of the desk and straightened. He did not like the look in his son's eyes. It was an impertinent look, one of complete disregard. It did not improve Valentine's mood.

Jocelyn swept into the room, her face stony. She grabbed Jonathan's hand, admonishing him in low tones. The boy shook her off, and for a moment both of his parents stared at him.

"Jonathan, I am working. You need to go with your mother." The surprise and anger he was feeling was reflected on Jocelyn's features. He let it bleed through his voice. "Now."

Jonathan did not budge. Valentine glared at him, but it did not seem to have any effect. Jocelyn sighed. She picked him up, and all hell seemed to break loose.

Jonathan started to scream and thrash in Jocelyn's arms, catching her on the side of her face with his sword. Valentine registered her flinch and snapped.

He took Jonathan out of Jocelyn's arms and strode out of his study towards the nursery, the sound of the blood pounding through his ears drowning out Jonathan's screams. He dropped the boy on the floor and snarled, determined to teach him a lesson. He raised his hand.

" _Father, please. I am sorry!"_

_The dark eyes he both loved and hated stared down at him impassively. He raised his hand slowly, and Valentine whimpered in fear._

_The blow struck home, making him fall backwards onto the carpet. The metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth, and he was not sure whether that or the tears on his cheeks was making his hands wet._

" _That was to teach you a lesson." His father pulled his hands away from his face and hauled him up. He glared at the tears on Valentine's cheeks. "And this is to teach you not to cry like some sniveling mundane."_

Valentine dropped his hand, gasping and trembling at the memory. He scooped Jonathan up and placed the confused child into his cot before falling to the floor and regaining control over himself.

He would not be his father. He would not be.

After a length of time he could not determine, he was able to stand. He walked shakily back to his study, and opened the door to see Jocelyn standing where he had left her. He smiled at her, and she smiled back before patting his arm softly and leaving the room.

Both of them pretended not to see the tear tracks on the other's face.

* * *

Jocelyn loved Christmas. She always had done, ever since Valentine had first known her, and he could not help but love it too because of her enthusiasm.

Last year, she had been too ill after Jonathan's birth to enjoy the holiday, but this year her green eyes were wide and glowing as she hummed to herself, her red jumper making the colour of her hair stand out even more.

The living room had a small fir tree in the corner. Jocelyn had abstained from decorating it with candles because of the overly inquisitive Jonathan, but it still shone with beauty from the glittering runes that adorned it. A wreath of holly decorated the front door, and intertwined holly and ivy decorated every wall.

Valentine could not help but smile softly as he watched Jocelyn lay food on the table, her face lit up with happiness. Ithuriel's blood was certainly working, and he could not have been more thankful for it. She had gained some weight so her cheeks were not as hollow, and she looked better than Valentine had seen her look for a while. His smile widened.

Jonathan was watching his mother from his place at Valentine's feet, grinning as he played with the toys he had been given. He stood up on chubby legs and ran towards Jocelyn, grabbing her knee. She placed down the bowls she was holding and smiled down at him, ruffling his hair with her hand. For a moment, Valentine could forget about his stress and simply enjoy being with his family.

The doorbell rang, and Valentine stood up to admit his parents-in-law. If Jocelyn was enthusiastic about Christmas, it was nothing compared to Granville Fairchild. He bounded into the manor like a giant puppy, almost crushing Valentine with a hug. His excited yell made his wife jump, and she looked at him with the same half reproachful, half amused look Jocelyn had given Valentine so many times. He could not hold back the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

"This is my present for you all." Granville held out the messily wrapped parcel with a wide grin, and Jocelyn took it with a laugh. She eagerly unwrapped it to reveal a heavy box of silver, with the initials J.C painstakingly carved into the metal. Valentine saw Adele hide a smile in Jonathan's hair.

Jocelyn traced over the initials with a trembling finger, tears welling up in her eyes. Valentine was astonished to see them there. She stood up and threw her arms around her father, blinking the tears back and whispering into his ear. He saw Granville flush and grin as Jocelyn pulled away, handing the box wordlessly to Valentine.

It was beautifully made, perfect as a keepsake box. But it was more than that. It was a reminder of who he was fighting for. He was fighting for Jonathan and for Jocelyn as well as power. He was not just fighting for the control of the Clave or even for the removal of all the Downworlders in the world. He was fighting for his son, for his family.

He smiled at Granville, finally understanding the expression on Jocelyn's face.


	16. The Wings of Death

"Stephen?" His smile was as awful to look at as the wicked blade in his hand was.

The vampires had been dispatched of, and the body in front of the kneeling Valentine showed no sign of movement. Golden curls lay matted and dim with blood, and the torn throat and slashed wrists left no hope that Stephen Herondale was still alive. Valentine's smile was interrupted by a small grimace. Vampires were so _messy_.

"Oh, by the Angel, _no._ " Murmurs of grief rang out among the small group surrounding the clearing, murmurs Valentine was oblivious to as the sweet burn of enacted vengeance ran through his veins.

* * *

Stephen was dead.

The words were branded into her brain, the ferocity of them wiping everything else out. Céline drew in a ragged gasp. The pain was overwhelming, almost crushing her.

But Céline had experienced grief before. And it had never made her feel like this.

Her blood seemed to be burning through her veins, and Céline could do nothing but scream at the heat of it. She hurried to her room, the world around her tilting alarmingly. She dropped to the floor in the doorway of it, the pain blessedly being replaced with numbness. She closed her eyes in relief. She was so very tired.

She did not see the wide grey eyes staring at her through a gap in the curtains with a look of steeling resolve and overwhelming horror.

* * *

Blood was everywhere. His hands were painted crimson with it. It was sticking his shoes to the floor. It was gushing from the gashes he had made in her arms.

Hodge Starkweather was a murderer.

He stumbled away from the body and fought the urge to retch with the enormity and repulsiveness of what he had just done. Valentine had said it was the right thing to do. Valentine had said it had been the only thing to do. He twisted his hands together to stop their trembling, resolutely ignoring the blood that dripped onto the floor as he did so.

It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. And Céline Herondale was with her husband now.

* * *

The child was thankfully a boy.

After much struggling they had finally been able to tear him out of his mother's body with minimal damage to it. The child let out a sharp, shrill cry, and Valentine pulled the boy to his chest, ignoring Hodge as he retched out of the window. The baby immediately settled as he nuzzled into the warmth of the shirt Valentine was wearing.

Valentine gazed at him, noting the child did not bear a strong resemblance to either of his parents. Curious. The baby opened his eyes, and Valentine inhaled sharply as he noticed the colour of them.

Warm, liquid gold was staring up at him.

* * *

"Jocelyn."

She had heard him stagger into the house, and unless her ears had deceived her he had actually tripped as he came up the stairs. She took in a deep, cleansing breath before she turned to face him.

Only for her to choke at the sight of him.

His eyes were sunken beneath bruised shadows. His hair was wet and it clung to his skin, illuminating the angles of his face and making him look a lot older than he was. The incorrectly buttoned shirt he was wearing did not hide all of the crimson stains beneath it.

"What happened?"

"Stephen and Céline are dead." His voice rang with exhaustion.

Jocelyn nodded. "I heard." Her own eyes itched with the reminder of the tears she had shed for her friends. "Are you alright?"

He shrugged, not looking at her as he began to move towards the door.

"Valentine. You were gone for a _whole day._ "

He whirled back towards her, grabbing her wrists and shoving her against the wall. "Indeed I was." His voice was a raging snarl. "How nice, you can count time."

"Valentine!" Her voice was as much of a snarl as his was. "Get off me." She shoved him, but he gripped her arms harder. His eyes widened in shock, realising what he was doing. He released her and she fell back against the wall.

"I am not in the mood for your questioning tonight. Just leave me alone." His voice cracked as he looked at the bruises forming on her forearms.

He fled out of the room, and Jocelyn collapsed to the floor.

* * *

"Do you have anything to prevent torture from happening? Something for the pain of it, maybe?"

Ragnor looked at the woman beside him for a long moment. He gazed at the shadows of exhaustion under her eyes, at the sharp angles of her fierce expression. She ran a hand through her red curls, and Ragnor did not miss the trembling of it. He inhaled sharply as the action pulled her shirt down, revealing dark bruises on her forearm. His fingers tingled warningly with his fury.

"There is a potion in the Book of the White. It will send you into a sleep so deep that only its antidote can awaken you. Nothing that happens to you while you are in the sleep can be felt." The shining hope in her eyes as they snapped up to meet his made Ragnor realise over again how _young_ she was.

"Leave it to me, and I'll make it up for you."

* * *

The infant was not easy to handle.

Hodge was exhausted. For someone so small, the baby had a large set of lungs and was willing to exercise them with every chance he got.

He sighed as the infant wailed again, screaming for all he was worth. The sound always pained Hodge, bringing with it sharp stabs of overwhelming guilt. He walked over to the crib where the infant was kicking his legs with his cries, his golden eyes seeming to grow impossibly wider as they looked up at Hodge.

He picked him up, cradling him in his arms as he looked round for the bottle he had just finished preparing. The cries were finally muted as the baby ate, but his eyes still frightened Hodge. They never calmed in his presence, and were terrifying in their intensity. It was as if he were evaluating Hodge with every glance and finding him unworthy with every blink.

Hodge breathed out shakily as the infant's eyes finally closed. He lay him back down, wondering how he was going to make it through the next few weeks.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to go to this party, wife of mine?"

Jocelyn looked up at Valentine to see his eyes warily watching her, as though she was a frightened animal he needed to comfort. The possessiveness of the endearment he used did not escape her. Things had been particularly strained between them ever since he had bruised her, and for the past few days she had done all she could to avoid him. She was finding it difficult to continue the ruse that she still loved him.

She had been terrified beyond belief at how easily he had hurt her. A small part of her had still held on to a naïve hope that if he discovered their plan to thwart the Uprising he would not physically hurt her. Now she was well aware of the fact that he would not even hesitate to should he discover what was going on. It made everything doubly dangerous and so much more difficult.

And it was shocking, still, that even through how much she hated him the bruises on her arms had hurt less than her heart did.

She nodded at Valentine. "I am sure. I want to meet Michael's new son." The Book of the White seemed to burn suddenly in the pocket of her gown where she had hidden it. She bit back a hiss.

Ragnor had left her the book along with the potion when she had come to collect it. The note beside them read that he was suddenly needed elsewhere to help an old friend, but that he could always be reached with a fire message. It had also recommended that she hide the Book of the White in a secure place and tell someone else about the potion, so if she ever had to use it someone would know what she had done.

So after much deliberation, Jocelyn had decided to hide it at the Wayland's manor in their extensive library. Even now the title of the book she'd chosen to hide it in made her grin. _Simple Recipes for Housewives._ An even more daunting task had been who to tell. She had considered Luke, but he was too close to the plan, too sceptical. He would take it away from her as soon as he saw it. That left the one person whom she had dismissed years ago as being jealous of her, the one person who had seen through Valentine in their years at the Academy.

She had sent the note to Madeleine, but since there had been no reply, Jocelyn just had to trust that Madeleine had read it and that she had understood.

She looked up at Valentine again, and any emotion visible in Valentine's eyes suddenly left them. He held out his hand to her in an almost mechanical manoeuvre, and just as robotically, she took it.

* * *

Valentine watched Jocelyn laugh and talk, her eyes glittering in the warm light of witchlight and candles. She wore a silvery grey gown that both illuminated and hid her body, hinting at curves but denying them at the same time. The long sleeves of it trailed behind her, and Valentine was reminded of a faerie sprite's wings.

His faerie sprite, flitting around with a wide smile on her face, ready to fly away. The sudden thought cut Valentine deeply, and anger twisted his face in a sudden snarl.

He watched her further, ignoring the Circle member backing away from him warily. He would not lose her. He would never lose her, for she was his. He caught her gaze and she nodded at him, turning back to Michael's wife with a soft smile. His rage calmed.

No, he was not going to lose her. For even if she wanted to, his faerie sprite could never fly away from him. She would never even dare to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story rewritten and corrected as of 28/3/16. I hope you all are enjoying it so far!


	17. The Uprising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the readers who faithfully followed this story, I offer you a sincere apology. In the two and a half years since I first started this story, a lot has happened and when I wanted to get back to this story, I could not figure out how to do so due to the difference between the girl who started the story and the woman today. So I rewrote chapters and picked stuff apart and finally, finally am back to finish this story. I thank you all for your support and I love you all.
> 
> I would highly suggest re-reading all of the story before this update. Quite a lot about it has changed, and I do not want to cause confusion with what bits of the story were written before the rewrite.

The night was clear and bright, and the wind slamming against Fairchild Manor whispered promises of snow. Up in the nursery, a window was open, and Jocelyn (Fairchild) Morgenstern let the wind rushing through it make her as icy as itself as she watched a small toddler blink up at her with dark, dark eyes.

* * *

Valentine Morgenstern did not spare the rattling windows of his study a look. Instead, he sat at his desk feverishly writing and fire messaging with occasional glances towards an innocuous-looking bright cup.

* * *

A werewolf pack ran in the shadows of the woods surrounding Alicante, the pounding of their feet almost silent on the mossy ground. They entered a wide clearing almost directly on the border of the city and many pairs of eyes snapped up to meet them. Fluently changing to his human state, the leader of the pack stepped forward. Quietly but firmly he went around each group to relay their plans, counting the grins of needle sharp teeth, the number of pairs of bright yellow eyes, the sparks of magic, and those with overwhelming perfection so _inhuman_ even by Downworlder standards.

The air crackled and hummed, becoming laced with magic and power, and hinting that the next morning's storm would truly be something to remember.

* * *

The morning began bright and blustery with the snow blurring the opulent light from the Towers, and shivering Shadowhunters of the Clave stepped out of carriages and made their way one by one along the pathways through Alicante to the Great Hall of the Angel. Most hurried straight inside, but a few briefly nodded to the cold Downworlder representatives waiting for their turn to enter the hall.

After all, today especially was a day of truce, and the niceties must be observed.

Once everyone was finally seated and the Downworlders were brought in, the Consul stood and began to make the usual lengthy pompous speech about how the Accords stood for peace and prosperity.

He had only got as far as the word prosperity when most of the Shadowhunters assembled stood, their red cloaks falling away to reveal the gleam of sharp weapons beneath. Gasps and confused murmurs rang out as Valentine Morgenstern, his face gaunt and terrifyingly proud, raised a hand towards the dais in the centre of the room where the representatives stood.

There was a pause, a pause filled with wildly staccato heartbeats and fear and _triumph_ , before the room erupted into chaos.

* * *

Jocelyn fumbled with the heavy doors, her heart pounding painfully to the mantra of her whispered pleas. Finally, finally she managed to fling them open, and she nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of the sea of fighters snarling in anticipation.

Her fingers lightly grazed against the cup hidden in her gear as she withdrew her sword. With a smile as triumphant as her husband's, Jocelyn stepped aside to let them through.

* * *

Luke ran forward as a member of his pack fell directly in front of him, her grisly scream echoing in his ears as he drew his sword. The struggle was mercifully brief, the Shadowhunter no match in the face of his fury. His brief glance towards his comrade confirmed that nothing could be done to help her. He raised his burning eyes to the surrounding battles, searching for the gleam of platinum blonde hair.

He found it swirling along with its owner beneath the statue of the Angel, his exhilarated laugh echoing over the screams as he neatly beheaded a lilac haired warlock. Luke leapt forward, swinging his sword around him as he pushed through the fighting.

He had no idea the guttural roar he was uttering was Valentine's name.

* * *

"Valentine!"

He whirled around, neatly slicing across a faerie knight's jugular as he did so. "Luke," he breathed, stunned, taking in the _wrongness_ of those yellow eyes in that familiar face. Hatred bloomed, quick and strong, as he recognised the dagger clasped in lengthening claws. He spat. "A werewolf who fights with a sword and dagger is as unnatural as a dog who eats with a knife and a fork."

Luke stepped towards him, the dwindling amount of space between them crackling with tension. "You know the sword, you know the dagger," he growled. "And you know who I am. If you must address me, use my name."

Valentine shook his head in disbelief. How he had been so foolish, so _sentimental_ , as to let this abomination live? "I do not know the names of half men. Once I had a friend, a brother, a man of honour who would have _died_ before he let his blood be polluted so. Now, a nameless monster with his face stands before me." He raised his sword. "I should have never let you get to this point. I should have just killed you when I had the chance!"

He lunged forward.

* * *

"Bitch! Filthy traitor! Downworlder loving _scum-_ "

Jocelyn twisted her blade and the Circle member fell at her feet. She looked up and surveyed the scene around her. She saw the Lightwoods drop their weapons and flee, lowering the number of remaining Circle members even further. The Downworlder survivors were mostly huddled around different bodies on the floor, and the few that were still fighting fought with only slightly less weariness than their Shadowhunter opponent. Her heart swelled with equal parts relief and sorrow. _They had won._

And then Jocelyn turned her gaze towards the dais and felt her heart stop.

* * *

" _Stop_!"

The cry surprised both men. Luke was the first one to recover and he struck out, forcing Valentine back and opening a cut on his chest.

Valentine did not notice.

His eyes were fixed firmly on Jocelyn. A Jocelyn with wild curls escaping her bun to frame her face and adrenaline dark eyes. A Jocelyn with a cut curving along her cheekbone, the red ruby of her blood the same colour as her gear. A Jocelyn with a terrified concern etched onto her features, and her gaze running anxiously over the werewolf _._

Valentine had always loved his wife the most after she had returned from battle. With a flush brightening her cheeks and the battle lust darkening her eyes, she was desire personified. And after the fights they had both been involved in, _well._ Those times would forever be burned into his memory.

Valentine recognised the look Jocelyn was giving Luke. It was the look that would heal his heart as well as his body when she lightly traced the _iratze_ over his wounds. The look that would eventually melt into a softened expression of love when he gathered her into his arms and held her close.

To have _his_ look bestowed upon another? The pain of her betrayal was sharp and stinging, causing his heartbeat to speed with rage.

He snarled, a low, possessive cry that caused Jocelyn to turn and look at him. The concern in her expression melted away to show a cool, disdainful mask of indifference.

And Valentine's vision tinted red as everything fell into place.

* * *

Jocelyn did not cry out as Valentine seized her. Her lips trembled, but her mask did not slip. Luke felt a fierce pride as she wrestled him, defiant within his grip.

And then he felt a fierce terror as a dagger curled around her throat.

He dropped his weapons, lifting his hands in surrender. The fear in Jocelyn's eyes scared him, but what horrified him the most was the resignation he saw swirling alongside it.

He would not risk Valentine harming her. He would not allow her to accept death because of his actions.

Valentine hissed at the sight. "You have always wanted her." His voice was hoarse, trembling with hatred and pain. "The two of you plotted my betrayal together." He sliced the dagger in a vicious upward movement, swiftly cutting through the cord of Jocelyn's necklace and gathering the pooling silver in a trembling fist. He threw it forward. "And you will regret what you have done, all the rest of your lives."

* * *

Luke stood shakily, the hated metal falling onto his sleeve as he did so. He looked down at it, watching the delicate wings of the Fairchild family symbol drip his blood onto the worn fabric.

Jocelyn had been given the necklace for a birthday not long before they had started at the Academy. He had never seen her take it off since that day. She would be upset if it was gone.

He let the necklace fall into a pocket on his jacket. Determinedly, his vision hazy with pain, he picked up his weapons and followed after Valentine.

* * *

Valentine was keening, his sobbing breaths echoing in Jocelyn's ear. She struggled against him as he pulled her along the banks of the great river, screams and shouts ringing around them. When they had reached a quiet area, he pushed her away from him.

She staggered back, instinctively wrapping her arms around herself as she fought to recover herself. Valentine's dark eyes watched her every move.

"Why?"

Her head snapped up. His expression was inscrutable, a stark contrast to the emotion he had poured out with his voice. She swallowed, ignoring the sting of the cut on her throat. "Because you had to be stopped."

He laughed, a horrible, broken sound that scraped along Jocelyn's nerve endings. She flinched as he strode towards her, but held her ground. He leaned in close to her and she struggled to remain still. "What makes you think that you have even come close to stopping me?" he whispered into her ear. "I told you that you would regret what you have done, all the rest of your life. And as you know, _my love,_ I always deliver on my promises."

With that, he turned and ran into the night.

* * *

"Jocelyn!"

His relief at seeing her alive was immense, and short lived. Her terror was palpable as she ran towards him, tears streaming down her face. She grabbed his hand as she passed him without breaking her stride.

"We have to find a horse, Luke!" The desperation in her voice caused Luke to tug her to a stop, turning her around to face him. She screamed in frustration and flung his hand back at him, her voice shrill and panicked.

"He's gone back to the manor, Luke. We have to go _now_."

Wordlessly, Luke took off in a dead sprint.

* * *

The scent of smoke reached her nostrils halfway along the winding pathway leading to her home.

Jocelyn slid from the horse, running forward on shaky legs.

The sight of the blackened skeleton of her home forced her to her knees.

Crawling forward, Jocelyn prayed, her blood staining the ashes crumpled beneath her.

She pulled herself up the blackened front doorsteps.

She reached the top, and through the ruins of the once ornate doors, two piles of bones greeted her. Red and gold threads clung to the bones of her mother, and her father's pile had a dagger melted to a hand. The bones were mingled together, as though they had died in each other's arms.

To the right of them, another pile gleamed with red scraps and the shine of an amulet carved with the insignia of the Circle.

And in front of them all, scattered apart, were the bones of a child.


End file.
